Gravity
by Silverskye13
Summary: You know Sans, you're not the only one with problems in this world. And I don't mean that spitefully. It's just... my friend... I want you to know that you're not alone. Life can be so hard when you're alone, like the weight of the entire world is on your shoulders. Yes... I would know - Your friend, Grillby - (gets a bit dark. depression/suicide warning?)


It was a mistake the two of them made often, staying until after Grillby's normally closed. Just talking. Drinking. Unwinding. Normally it wasn't a mistake, actually. Normally it was just two friends enjoying pleasant company. Feeling warm for a few minutes despite the cold of the world outside. Feeling normal. It was nights like tonight in particular that made it a mistake. Nights when Snowdin decided to wrap its arms around them a little colder. When its winds howled and shrieked and the snow fell so dense you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. These days were rare, but they came without warning when they decided to rear their ugly heads. These days even the soul felt cold.

Sans watched the snow fall from his perch on a barstool close to the bar counter, sighing miserably as he watched it. Papyrus was going to kill him. Of course, as a skeleton the cold didn't get to him like it got to the other monsters. If it were just wind and cold he would have no trouble walking home. It was the snow that stopped him from making the attempt to navigate his way home. There was no way he'd be able to find his way through the snow. And he didn't feel like getting buried in a random snow drift.

Grillby had another problem altogether. Made of fire as he was, water was his one weakness. And while the normal flurries of Snowdin barely registered against his heat, a blizzard of this magnitude would make short work of him. He was trapped in the bar until it blew over. Whenever that may be. So Grillby took his time, leisurely cleaning every glass to a spotless shine as he waited for the snow to stop falling. The act of cleaning on its own was calming to him, and kept bitter thoughts out of his head.

"You know, G, you're probably one of the quietest people I know," Sans drawled lazily as he gazed at the blizzard outside, "Which is weird cuz you're a pretty funny guy, you know? And you're obviously not shy."

Grillby gave a soft chuckle, his flames crackling warmly as he did so, "You do quite a lot of talking for me, Sans."

The two lapsed into a homely kind of silence. Grillby always enjoyed snow storms, dangerous or no. There was something comforting in the silence of them. You could hear rain. You could hear hail and sleet. The wind made it's own howlings and wails. But snow, you never actually _heard_ snow when it was falling. On a windless night it could bury roads and greet you with it's absolute silence. It even seemed to leech the sound out of the world around it, making spoken words heavy and muffled.

Sans looked over his shoulder and noticed Grillby had stopped polishing the glass in his hand. The fire elemental sighed, leaning forward against the counter, his weight resting on his crossed arms. He watched the snowfall wistfully, molten eyes half-closed.

"You like watching the snow, G?"

"It's so calming," Grillby hummed, "It makes me miss the rain."

"Rain? You taken a stroll through Waterfall lately?"

Grillby gave another soft sigh, a small puff of smoke curling through the air as he did, "It's not the same. Not really. Rain has a certain smell, a soft and round smell that saturates the air. Depending on where you are it can be sharp with salt, or smooth with the smell of damp plant matter. The sounds can get annoying sometimes, but I suppose it's bearable just for the peace it brings. Like it's washing away the world."

Sans gave a small laugh, "You ever try writing poetry, G? You'd probably sell it."

He paused and then a bit of realization dawned across his face, "Wait, rain… you were alive before the war, Grillby?"

He turned to look at his friend, giving a start when he realized Grillby had suddenly stiffened. His eyes were narrowed in a sharp glare, and his flames writhed as if he'd suddenly caught a wiff of a terrible smell.

"I mean… didn't mean to bring up bad memories or anything," Sans added quickly, "I just… I dunno, didn't think you were that old."

"I'm not _that old_ ," Grillby adjusted his glasses on his face, "Though I suppose I'm fairly close. No, I wasn't alive _before_ the war. I was summoned _during_ it."

Grillby didn't have to look to sense his friend's confusion. The air suddenly felt heavy with questions even though Sans hadn't said a word.

"My kind isn't born like you are, Sans," Grillby said with a shrug, "I am, in essence, a fire spirit. Someone called me to life. I never had to mature, I was born this age, and I will stay this age until I die I suppose. Honestly, I've never met another one of my kind… none made of fire anyway."

Sans blinked at Grillby, his expression dark, "Wow G. So… you fought in the war then? Like the old man in Waterfall?"

Grillby averted his gaze, staring back down at the glass he'd stopped cleaning. He gave a soft huff and moved to put it away in one of the cabinets behind the bar, "We should change the subject."

Silence fell over the two of them. Silence filled by the sound of the wind and the snow.

"Okay," Sans said slowly, "Suit yourself I guess."

"I will," Grillby answered tersely, finding another glass to clean.

The skeleton chuckled bitterly as Grillby returned, "Guess it makes sense doesn't it? Tall dark and silent bar owner who listens to everyone's problems and never really has any of his own. Everybody probably thinks you stop existing once the doors close."

Grillby smirked, his fire crackling keenly, "And school teachers live in their classrooms when the students leave, I suppose."

Sans grinned, "Exactly."

"And small skeletons drink too much even though they have no stomachs to hold the liquor with?"

Now it was Sans' turn to stiffen.

"Hey hey, we said a _long_ time ago that my problems were off limits," Sans said, letting out a condescending _tsk!_ "Really G, you know better."

"And small skeletons hide how much pain they're in by cracking jokes and pretending they're just lazy, as well," Grillby pressed again, and Sans slammed an angry fist on the counter.

"Grillby! Let it go. The subject was changed."

The fiery monster gave Sans a patronizing look, "No, I want to talk to you about this. I've been meaning to talk to you about this for a while, actually."

"Cool it Grillby!"

"I am made of fire Sans, it's impossible for me to _cool_ it."

Sans didn't smile. His expression didn't even flinch. In his anger, his left eye began to flicker with a hint of blue. The two watched each other silently for a moment, Grillby in quiet condescension and Sans with his own brand of seething bitterness. Grillby noticed that Sans' hand shook, and he raised an eyebrow at the skeleton.

"Calm yourself, Sans."

Sans gave an angry huff, breaking away his stare to glare at the falling snow. He crossed his arms tensely, letting a whistle pipe sharply through his teeth as he did. Silence fell over them again, and Grillby busied himself with cleaning the glass in his hand. The clock ticked. The wind was shrill. Even his own breathing seemed loud in his ears.

"I'll tell if you do."

It was such a childish thing to say. And the voice was so small and sad, Grillby could hardly believe it came from his friend. He put the glass down gently on the counter.

"Really now?"

Sans didn't look at him, "You wanna know why I drink? I wanna know why you don't talk. Sounds like an even trade to me."

Grillby's flame gave an indignant ripple, feeling an anxious mix of emotions tease at his insides. He took a few noticeably deep breaths, gleaning a concerned look from Sans. He didn't lose his composure completely though. Delicately he picked the glass back up and got to work scrubbing away invisible stains. He needed to do something with his hands.

"I do not speak... because it hurts," Grillby answered slowly. He glared at the glass in his hands as if he could set it ablaze that way.

"Not much," his voice clipped hoarsely, and he had to clear his throat, "But if I speak all day, I will sometimes find myself mute by the morning. You see I…"

Grillby paused, his gaze once again becoming wistful, melancholy, "I find this very hard to talk about. You will have to bear with me."

Sans nodded wordlessly, intently.

"I was summoned to fight in the war," Grillby continued, his gaze fixed painfully forward on some invisible point, "It was a very terrible time. Unlike Gerson who was regarded as a hero in the war, I was but a lowly soldier. I followed strict orders. None of my stories are glorious. They are instead very painful. And as a summoned being I had no family to fight for, no one to return to, no one to comfort me for the things I had done. Now certain sounds, words, smells... "

Grillby paused and took a breath, returning his gaze to the glass in his hands. He realized in his distress his fire had heated to a frightful temperature. His flames flickered white and blue, the glass he was holding began to glow red and warp beneath his touch.

"... burning meat on the grill. Hail on the roof. Loud, uproarious noises. Children crying…"

Grillby's voice shuddered, "It brings it all back to me. So vividly and intensely I can no longer see the bar... Or hear the people in it."

A small fire struck up on the countertop as the molten glass in his hand dripped down onto the wood there. Grillby let out a soft curse and quickly scooped up the liquid glass. He let out a disdainful huff and held the putty-like substance in his hand.

"I hate it when I do that."

Sans finally spoke, "You do that often?"

Grillby gave him a confused look.

"The flashbacks," Sans clarified, "Not… the glass."

Grillby shrugged, his voice quivering a bit as he spoke, "It comes and goes. I have tried seeing someone for it but… it just makes the nightmares worse. I'm sure if I kept going it would have helped eventually but…"

He ran a free hand across the top of his head, his fire licking between his fingers, "... I can't stand the nightmares. I woke up so many times screaming. It… broke something in me. Something to do with my voice."

Grillby brought his hand down to rub his throat self consciously, "It took so long for me to be able to talk again."

His hand gripped his own neck worriedly as he spoke, as if the motion alone could repair whatever was damaged there. Almost absentmindedly he added, "Maybe… I will not sleep tonight..."

The two were silent again. Sans watched as Grillby tried to keep himself together, the normally stoic elemental now flickering intensely with pent up emotion. His fire was so intense even Sans could feel it, the heat seeping into his bones like wicked magic.

"It pains me so much," Grillby slumped forward some, his free arm coming up to hug his own chest, "I remember so vividly how when I came into this world I was filled with so much wonder. And so quickly it was replaced with so much pain. My soul used to fall against gravity it was so light. And now…"

He hugged himself tightly, collapsing in on himself until his forehead nearly brushed the counter, "Every night I can feel my sins crawling down my back. It… it is… so... cruel."

Grillby straightened, seeming to compose himself, and added bitterly, "Though I suppose it is nothing worse than I deserve."

Sans blinked at his friend, simultaneously ashamed for asking and amazed at Grillby's strength. How many years had he spent with the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, completely alone? Honestly he wanted to give the guy a hug, to comfort him like he might do for his brother, but he checked himself. Hugging Grillby was probably a bad idea, given how hot his fire was burning.

Instead he settled on a silent and awkward, "I'm… so sorry."

Grillby sighed, a long wisp of smoke curling from where his mouth should be. He rested his head in his hands, letting his elbows prop him up on the counter, "Why be sorry Sans? There's nothing you can do about it."

He tilted his head in the skeleton's direction, eyes half closed in a look of exhausted defeat, "Now… it is your turn."

Sans looked down at his own hands miserably, several different types of guilt and fear mixing in his gut. Or maybe that was the alcohol he'd had earlier. Who really knew at this point?

"You're going to think I'm crazy, Grillby."

"I doubt it, Sans."

Sans gave a bitter grin, glaring hard at the floor, "Okay. Here goes I guess. I have lived and died over a hundred different lifetimes at this point, but I'm the only one who remembers that they happened. Somewhere out there, there is a human child filled with so much determination they can change the course of fate, just like the humans from the old wars could. When they make their way through Snowdin, they live their life one of a few ways. They either decide to spare everything and resolve to save us from being trapped behind the barrier… or they decide to kill. Sometimes in self defence… sometimes for fun."

Sans felt his nerves turn to nausea in his stomach, his hand shook, "And no matter how hard I try to get them to stop I can't stop them. It's always up to their whims who lives and who dies and it gives me panic attacks sometimes to think about it. Sometimes they kill Papyrus. And Undyne. Everyone I've ever known and loved and more."

Unlike Grillby, who slowed down the closer he came to the end of his tale, Sans could feel his own words and thoughts speeding up and spilling past his teeth like a waterfall. They matched his heartbeat as it began to race. He shuddered.

"And I can never do anything to stop it. I know I can't. So I let it happen," his smile was contorted now into a painful grimace, his glare practically boring holes into the floor, "When I finally get to confront the human I always die. I only stall them for a little while before they make their way past me. I feel myself turn to dust every time. And I have to deserve it."

He finally lifted his head to grin at Grillby, tears streaming down his face, "I mean, I let them kill my own brother didn't I? I deserve to die don't I? I _want_ to die Grillby. What kind of a monster am I?"

Sans looked away again, screwing his eyes shut, "But nobody remembers, and I always come back to life. Because that stupid kid has _determination_. They will always reset the world back to where it was before. Sometimes they give up and I spend weeks alone here, just keeping the dust company. Sometimes they come back every single day until I lose count. But no matter what I do I can never change anything…!"

A pair of warm, comforting arms wrapped themselves around him.

"Please… _stop_ …"

Grillby's voice shook fitfully, and Sans could smell the burning of fabric as one of the elemental's molten tears dropped onto his jacket. His voice was intense, but his flame was low, desperate and cold.

"Never say that again, Sans," a few more tears dropped to the floor, and Sans wondered through his own grief if they would turn to glass when they eventually cooled.

"You cannot wish to die."

Sans gave a soft laugh, "I'm so tired G."

"I am too my friend."

The two of them stayed that way for a while, watching the blizzard, stilling their own tears.

"... I'm sorry G," Sans said finally, trying to stomp the quiver out of his voice, "I shouldn't have said anything. You're going to have nightmares tonight… and now you're going to worry about me too."

"I am not sorry," Grillby whispered, his voice hoarse, "I am glad… someone finally knows… and glad to have someone to worry about."

He broke the embrace and stepped back, "I do not feel so alone now."

Sans gave a bitter smile, "Yeah… I guess there's an upside to everything."


End file.
